


A Rough Start

by NomadicPixel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24655147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NomadicPixel/pseuds/NomadicPixel
Summary: Grocery shopping isn’t exactly fun.  It’s worse when you’re hungover. Can a handsome stranger make it worth your while?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	A Rough Start

**Author's Note:**

> I previously posted this on Tumblr.   
> There are brief mentions of shyness and anxiety. Let me know what you think.

Nectar of the Gods. You inhaled, savoring the scent of French Vanilla wafting from the cup in your hands. Last night had been…rough…to say the least. It wasn’t that you’d had that much to drink, but you’d managed to have a panic attack after you were a few beers in, and it had done a number on your system.

Your muscles were aching, and this was the last place you wanted to be. You had just gotten back into town a couple days ago, and hadn’t taken the time to fill your fridge. If you were going to make it through the day without takeout - a trip to the grocery store was in the cards. 

The cart you’d chosen was perfect. Silent, no wonky wheel, allowing you to lean on it as you strolled through produce, sunglasses still on, as you sipped your favorite bean juice and pondered which produce would be going home with you. 

* * *

Bananas, strawberries, raspberries, and some beautiful giant peaches all made it into the buggy. You were debating the merits of a pint of juicy looking blackberries when another cart crashed into you, sending you and your half finished coffee to the floor. 

“Fuck! I’m so sorry!”

All you could do was sigh. It was just your fucking luck that this would happen today, of all days. Now you were on the ground, wearing half of what was left of your piping hot Dunkin Donuts French Vanilla. Fortunately it was not hot enough to burn you. 

Although your white top had seen better days. Well - it used to be white.

You looked up to see a tall, well built man, holding his hand out to you. His dark hair was combed back from his face, the tendons in his neck straining against his black t-shirt. 

“Shit - you’re covered in coffee. The cart got away from me, I was trying to text and drive,” he laughed at his own joke, continuing without waiting for any response from you. “Always a bad idea. I didn’t mean to hit you. Are you okay, darlin’?” he rambled as he helped you to your feet.

Something about this guy left you uneasy. He was handsome enough, but the way he invaded your space and kept talking made him feel disingenuous. “Yeah, I think I’ll be alright. thanks,” you mumbled, running your hands over your face, sliding your sunglasses back to the top of your head. You took a step back from the invader, suddenly wishing you left your sunglasses on.

* * *

The orange color of his skin was giving you a headache.

“Please, let me make it up to you. Can I pay to have your shirt cleaned? Take you out to dinner?”

“No. Thank you,” you replied, hoping your clipped tone would give him the clear signal you were not interested. You backed away from the stranger, pressing your lips into a thin line and crossing your arms.

“C’mon darlin’ - we both know that shirt of yours would look great on my…”

“Hey Honey - sorry - it took me a while to find maraschino cherries.” You felt a comforting arm wind its way around your waist. “What happened to your shirt?”

You looked up to see that a tall, handsome man with a vaguely familiar face had sidled up to you. His touch immediately put you at ease. “This man was just apologizing to me, hun. He ran into me and…” you put your arms out, gesturing to your shirt. 

He turned to the creep who had been invading your space, and took a step forward, partially blocking you from the creep with his body. “I think we’re done here, aren’t we…” he trailed off, his right hand out, waiting for the man to introduce himself.

“Rumlow. Brock Rumlow.”

“James Barnes,” he replied coldly, his eyes narrowed. 

Your eyes went back and forth between the two men. It was like watching a tennis match.

“Well, Brock, you have a good day,” he said, shaking hands, the tone of his voice indicating he wished the opposite. From the look of Brock’s face, the shake was none too gentle, either.

James began removing his jacket, revealing your favorite football team’s logo beneath. The shirt he was wearing exactly matched your own, stained one. By the way it strained across his chest, it might have been the same size as well. He held his jacket out to you and whispered in your ear, calling you by your name. “You may want to put this on, your shirt is still damp and a bit…yeah.”

You flushed, looking down to see your shirt was completely transparent from the coffee. You gasped, and pulled the jacket on. 

Once you looked up, you realized his left arm was a prosthetic. You met James’ gaze as you cuffed the sleeves, and asked how he knew your name. 

He flushed as well. “I’m Steve’s friend, Bucky. We met at his Superbowl party last year…” he trailed off, looking into your eyes hopefully. 

You facepalmed, immediately recognizing him again. “I’m so sorry - you’ve cut your hair, it looks so different!”

He grinned boyishly, carding his fingers through it. “And here I thought the arm would have given me away,” he joked, wiggling his metal fingers at you. 

“What can I say? I didn’t notice it at the party, or until you took your jacket off just now.” 

He answering smile lit up the produce section. “You really are the perfect woman,” he whispered, then cringed. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?” he asked, covering his face. 

* * *

You two walked around together as you finished your shopping, chatting and talking like old friends. He’d been very shy when you’d first met, barely saying more than a handful of words to you the entire night. You had thought he hadn’t liked you at all.

He walked you to your car and helped you load the groceries once you had paid. Ever the gentleman, he refused the jacket when you offered to return it. He did however ask if he could make you dinner tonight. 

One look at his earnest, azure eyes, and you couldn’t say no.

Your friend Peggy had called squealing with glee as you were walking through your door. Apparently Steve had called her to tell her about your run-in with Bucky at the grocery store.

“I thought you two would never hit it off,” she tittered, her english accent becoming more pronounced. “Our two best friends! You two were made to be together.”

You rolled your eyes as you started flipping through your closet, looking for outfits for tonight. Of course Peggy had forgotten what tonight was. It was so typical of her to get caught up into the minutia of her own life. You loved her like a sister, but she drove you nuts.

Instead, you needed to find an outfit. And fast.

As if she was reading your mind, Peggy continued. “Wear that cute maxi dress of yours. The one that shows off your legs. He will adore your legs.”

After making your excuses, you said goodbye to Peggy so you could get ready. You huffed, grabbing that maxi dress, grudgingly accepting that she was right about showing off your legs.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen what I have up top.

* * *

You arrived at his apartment that evening, with a bottle of wine tucked under your arm.

Bucky lead you into the kitchen, where he’d prepared your favorite meal. He blushed, before admitting he’d had a quick chat with Peggy before you came over. 

“It wasn’t stalking, I swear. I didn’t know if you had any food allergies, and she just started telling me what your favorites were, so…” he trailed off. “Yeah.”

You kissed his cheek, and sat down for a nice dinner and conversation. 

He was an excellent cook. 

You made to stand when he cleared the dinner plates, and he cleared his throat. “Oh no you don’t. Do you really think that Peggy would go to all the trouble of telling me your favorites, but forget to tell me what day it was?”

Blushing, you looked down at the table. The lights dimmed, and he walked over to you carrying a cake, with two numbered candles at the top. 

“Happy Birthday, Beautiful,” he whispered, and began singing. 

Sliding into the chair next to you, and wrapping his arm around you, he whispered into your ear.

“Make a wish.”


End file.
